A Mess of Pottage
by babies-stole-my-dingo
Summary: Takes place after my 'Salvation' fic. Six months after the events of that story, Spike encounters a new Slayer, but she's been corrupted. Being Spike, he tries to help her, with mixed results. COMPLETE!
1. Games

  
**Author's Note:** None of the characters in the Whedonverse belong to me. I'm not making any money off of this, please don't sue me, I don't have anything you want anyway, you know the drill. The town of Lampasas is real, but the pastor and church there are completely fictional. The Branch Davidian Compound is also a real place, but I've taken liberties with it. It just seemed like such a natural setting for the story. No offense is meant to anyone with any interest in it. 

The Hubby gave me a challenge--which I will delineate at the end of the fic. I've been mulling the idea over for quite some time now, thinking of different timeframes and whether I wanted to set sometime before the show, during the show, after the show, or in my comfy little AU where Spike is a Christian and everyone died at the Hellmouth but him.

And I decided that this story would best be set in my AU. So--Spike encounters a Slayer in Texas, after he converts to Christianity. She's a bit...off. Can he help her? Does she even want help?

Previously, on "Spike, the Series": "Chosen" ended a little differently...huh, what? What's that you say? Okay, okay (she said grudgingly, grumbling about "nitpicky readers"). A lot differently than it did in the actual show. Everyone died but Spike. He never saw Angel again, preferring to go his own way. Twenty years later, he wandered into a little church in Lampasas, TX, and found the Answer to a question. See my "Salvation" fic. **Warning: Christianity lurketh here**, although I'll try not to smack you over the head with it. If you can't deal with that, then this fic is not for you and you should bail now.

* * *

**_Prologue: Seven Months Ago_**

Two Odobenus demons glided down the San Antonio alley, stalking the Chosen girl. Pointed ears swiveling back and forth, reptilian green eyes gazing into the shadows, their hulking forms followed her as she ran. The alleyway made a T at the end, the left side ending blindly, the right side continuing on a short distance and then making a turn to the left. Looking behind her, she crashed headlong into a huge body, bounced off, and fell to the ground.

Looking up, her paralyzed stare met the same sort of green eyes that belonged to her demonic pursuers. She started to scream, but an immense hand covered her mouth, cutting her off. "Now, now, Slayer. None of that." The voice was raspy and deep, hardly distorted at all by the two sets of upward-jutting tusks sticking out of the demon's lower jaw. "We're all going to be very good friends. Aren't we?" it said to her trackers, who stopped next to them.

A bleached-blond vampire, who'd been trailing the demons and the girl, heard the truncated scream and broke into a run, his black duster swirling behind him. But when he got to the area, all that remained was the scent of terrified Slayer and automobile exhaust.

Spike's shoulders slumped. He'd missed out on saving another one.

* * *

**_Chapter One: Games_**

The parishioners of the little church had almost gotten used to the quiet young Englishman dressed in black in the back pew. He seemed shy, and since Pastor Tom hadn't said anything about him, none of them knew quite how to approach him. After a few "Welcome to our church" greetings, they'd left him alone.

And that suited Spike just fine. He was still feeling his way in this brand new world, and the fewer distractions around, the better, as far as he was concerned. The current church secretary failed miserably in hiding her skittishness around him, and had practically squeaked the last time they'd met in the hallway. But he and the pastor had an easy camaraderie, stemming from the time that Spike had saved him from the demons and then Tom had returned the favor, helping Spike with a different kind of Salvation.

Spike had discovered that an underground passage led from his crypt to the church basement, and this allowed him the ability to visit in the daytime. They'd set up a makeshift training room in the basement so Spike could school his Cleric in the finer points of demon-hunting; then they'd go upstairs to a classroom and study. Sometimes they studied the Bible, and other times they studied the...less conventional books that Spike had sent for from Los Angeles. Sometimes Topper, the abandoned Bull Terrier that Spike had befriended, came in with him.

They'd fallen into this routine over the period of the last six months or so. Spike was almost getting comfortable. That changed abruptly for him one night out on patrol.

A flash of recognition in the eyes of the demon he was fighting... "Hey! I know who you are!"

"Yeah?" Spike snap-kicked it in the chest. "Then you'll know who's killing you. Good on you, mate."

"If you think I'm going to let myself get killed," it panted, aiming a punch at his face and missing, "by some pansy-ass Christian vampire with a soul--" Another punch, another miss. "--you've got another think coming."

"Do I?" A flurry of boots and fists, and the demon found itself flat on its back with Spike's knife at its throat.

"Wait!"

"Why? So I can prove what a 'pansy-ass' I am?"

"I know where the Slayer is."

That stopped him for a second. "And you think I care about that because...?"

"Oh, come on. Everyone knows you have a thing for Slayers."

"I'm long over that. I've not seen a bloody Slayer for twenty years." The knife moved.

"She's in Waco! At Mount Carmel!"

"You'll have to do better than that."

"The old Branch Davidian compound."

It didn't ring a bell, but Spike grumbled and let the demon up. "Get out of my town and don't come back. And tell all your little friends that it's not safe for them here. I may be a Christian and have a soul, but that doesn't mean I've lost my wrinklies."

As the demon ran off into the night, Spike knew he was going to have to have a talk with Pastor Tom.

* * *

"I need to go to Waco," he said without preamble. "Will you watch Topper for me?"

"Whoa, slow down. Why do you need to go to Waco?" Pastor Tom asked. They were sitting in his office.

"The Slayer is there," Spike said, as if it were obvious why he'd need to go.

"And?" Tom regarded him over the rim of his mug of coffee.

"I just want to see if she's all right. With the Watcher's Council gone, she's missing a lot of information she'll need if she wants to live longer than a few weeks."

"How do you know for a fact that she doesn't have a Watcher?"

"Well, I guess I don't. But I want to make sure."

"Look, Spike." Tom put his mug down and leaned forward. "I'm your friend, right?"

"Yeah," he answered warily.

"I just want to be positive you've got the right motives here. You tend to get into train wrecks with Slayers, from what you've told me, and I don't want to see you get hurt. That's all."

"Train wrecks with Slayers?" Spike snorted. "Train wrecks with women, more like. No worries, Cleric. Strictly reconnaissance here. Go in, make sure the bint's all right, and come back. Maybe a conversation about sacred duty and all that rot." He tilted his head. "Why? Are you getting some kind of vibe in your spirit that I shouldn't go?"

Tom frowned. "Not so much that. More of a...I don't know. Something tells me you're not going to find what you expect when you get there, though."

"Huh. You never get what you expect with Slayers. Any idea where this Branch Davidian compound is?"

The pastor went still. "Is that where she is?

"According to my source."

Tom sat back and took a deep breath. "There was a big incident at the place, about thirty years ago. The government wanted to arrest the leader of the religious cult that was headquartered there. By the time the dust cleared, a bunch of people were killed, including a dozen kids. I was twelve when it happened, and I still remember it."

"Lovely. Sounds like a recipe for demon haunting."

"It is. Every time some group or other tries to build something on the site, something happens and they either die or get run off. It has a reputation for being cursed now, and hardly anyone goes to it anymore."

"Except our Slayer. Which, when you stop to think about it, _is_ something you'd expect from her. Be where the action is."

Tom sighed. "Just be careful. Take your phone, and if you need anything at all, call me."

"No worries, mate."

* * *

Spike found the Mount Carmel compound about twelve miles outside of Waco on a little-traveled road that probably appeared more deserted than it actually was. He got out of the DeSoto and lit a cigarette, looking the place over and deciding how best to approach it.

Something hailed him from behind. Spike turned his head but didn't react otherwise to it, although he was ready to if need be. "You here for the Glads?" a voice asked.

"Isn't everyone?"

"Well, yeah." The voice belonged to a blue demon in a business suit, with purple eyes and two pairs of short horns sticking out of his forehead. "Ready to bet the big bucks tonight?"

"Sure." Spike had no idea what he was betting on, but he wasn't going to tell anyone that. What in bloody hell were "Glads"?

"Well, let's go then; we don't want to be late for the fun. Tonight's the quarter-final event, unless the Slayer has any surprises for us." He grinned savagely. "And she usually does."

Spike flicked his cigarette away and followed the demon to the compound, frowning to himself. A seven-foot tall, muscular demon, with two tusks sticking out of its upper jaw, stopped him at the door, looking him up and down contemptuously. "Ticket?"

Spike stared back at it, unintimidated. "First timer. How much?"

"Fifty dollars, leech."

He rolled his eyes at the insult and reached for his wallet. Handing the demon a fifty, he took his ticket and walked in.

The interior of the building was set up like a small indoor arena, with bench seating and a concrete-floored bowl in the center. Concession stands selling a variety of demon food and drink were dotted around, with betting cages next to them. A windowed, enclosed luxury box sat at one end, but it was empty for now.

Demons of every species Spike knew, and several he didn't, milled around--talking, eating, drinking, and placing bets. A sense of suppressed excitement filled the air, which was heightened when a recorded fanfare played over the loudspeakers. Doors at the opposite end of the building from the luxury box opened, and three Odobenus demons, escorting a girl, made their way around the perimeter and seated themselves behind the glass. One of the demons was considerably larger than the other two. The girl picked up a microphone and said, "Let the games begin!" as the crowd roared and Spike's guts screamed "Slayer!" at him.

He found a seat near the box, after buying an overpriced, watered-down cup of unidentifiable animal blood from one of the concessions. Doors at either end of the bowl opened, and an Odobenus demon, armed with a battleaxe, stepped through each of them, bellowing, chomping their tusked lower jaws, and raising the ridge of hair that ran from their eyebrows all the way down their backs to make themselves look bigger. As they strode to the center of the arena and began trading blows, Spike was distracted from the contest by the buzzing in his nerves caused by the young woman in the luxury box.

Apparently he'd caught her attention as well. She leaned over to one of her demon attendants and whispered in his ear. He nodded and said something into a microphone in his collar, and a few minutes later a waitress came up to Spike with a cup of blood. "Compliments of the Slayer," she said with a horrible wink from the eye in the middle of her forehead.

"Thanks." He took the cup, tilted his head, and raised the drink in the direction of the Slayer. She lifted her own at him, smiling. He sipped it, noting that it was of considerably better quality than what he'd gotten from the concession stand.

The crowd roared again, and he turned his attention back to the arena to find that the demon with the yellow ridge hair was dismembered on the floor, while the one with the green hair stood above it, shaking a battleaxe above its head and howling in triumph. A cleanup crew came in and cleared the mess away, and the next pair of contestants entered.

Spike set his empty cup down next to his seat and tried to turn his attention to the new battle. However, the annoying tingle in his skin had extended itself to his head, and his vision was getting suspiciously blurry. He had just enough time to think, _Oh, bollocks, the blood was drugged,_ before he fell off the bleacher in a boneless heap.

* * *

He came to slowly, sprawled on a concrete floor. Grateful for the small favor of not having a headache from whatever they'd put in his blood, he sat up slowly, getting his bearings and trying to quiet the tingle in his skin caused by the proximity of the Slayer...

Who was squatting on her heels outside his cell and regarding him with dark blue eyes, head cocked to one side. "William the Bloody," she said slowly, with a soft Southern drawl. She seemed to savor the words. "Slayer of Slayers. Vampire with a soul. What in the world brings you to my little old corner of Texas?"

That was just bloody great. His reputation had preceded him. "Heard there was a Slayer about. Come to see if she was all right, and to offer my services, if needed. I see that you're fine, and my services aren't required, so I'll just be toddlin' off home now." Spike stood up and shrugged his duster more comfortably around himself, hunting his pockets for his cigarettes. Those he had, but his cell phone was missing, along with his wallet and his butterfly knife. He lit up, drawing the soothing smoke down into his lungs.

She looked up at him and pouted. "Aw. Don't you want to stay and play? I'm sure I could find--" Her eyes raked him boldly. "--a use for you."

"Sorry, ducks. Been there, done that, got the soddin' t-shirt." He blew a stream of smoke in her direction.

"Well, then." She stretched to her feet, graceful as a puma. "I guess we'll just have to have a bonus round of the Glads. A nice little treat for the paying customers."

"Hey!" Spike was annoyed. "I'm a bloody paying customer!"

She grinned ferally at him. "I suppose you could ask for a refund. If you live, that is. Magnus!"

"Yes, Slayer?" A vampire appeared from around the corner.

"Prepare William the Bloody here for battle, and get him a suitable opponent. One that matches his...unique talents."

"Yes, Slayer."

She gave Spike a smile, stood up, and left. His eyes followed her until she was out of sight, then flicked to Magnus. Spike curled his lip, crossed his arms, and leaned back against the wall, tapping the ash from his cigarette contemptuously. "Prepare me for battle? I'd like to see you bloody try it, junior."

Magnus sneered back at him. "There's an easy way, and a hard way." He pulled a stun baton out from under his jacket and pushed the trigger a couple of times, making it crackle. "The easy way, you take off your shirt and let me oil you down. The hard way, I put you down, tear off your shirt, and oil you down while you're unconscious."

He wasn't going to get out of this. Might as well cooperate. "How about we do it my way? I take off my own shirt and oil myself down? Not that you wouldn't be a nummy treat, but, honestly, I don't swing that way, and I don't fancy having another man's hands all over me. If it's all the same to you."

The other vampire considered it for a moment, and acquiesced. Spike removed his duster and his shirt and folded them neatly, after flipping the cigarette away, and rubbed himself over with the oil that Magnus provided. He was still somewhat mystified by the goings-on. "So, mate, what's the Slayer's story, anyway? Last time I checked, Slayers were supposed to be killing the likes of us, not overseeing our fights."

"Sorry. That's not for me to say. Maybe you'll get to ask her." He unlocked Spike's cell. "Follow me. If you try anything funny..." He tapped his stun baton significantly.

Spike rolled his eyes. "I get the bloody message." Frustrated with more questions than answers, he was almost looking forward to killing something. Magnus led him to a holding cell that apparently opened into the arena and closed the door behind him.

"Your door will open when your opponent is ready. Hope you can live up to your reputation."

"I'm not worried."

Magnus bared his teeth at him. "You should be."

Spike only had a moment to think about that before the door to the arena opened and the clamor of the crowd assaulted his ears. He walked into the stadium, and the shouts grew louder, drowning out the battle whistle of the Chaos Demon across the dirt floor from him. Spike knew the sound, though--it sounded like a bull elk in rut, only louder and lower pitched. The creature was also shirtless, the slime from its antlers streaking the fur on its chest and shoulders. It lowered its head and charged.

Spike stepped forward to give himself more room to maneuver. As the Chaos Demon reached him, he slid deftly to one side and grabbed an antler. He used the demon's own momentum to sling it around, releasing it into the wall. It leaped back up immediately, not even stunned, and came at him again, slower this time, gauging his reaction. It swung a cloven fist at him, which he ducked and countered. It blocked his punch and drove its antlers at him again, and this time a tine pierced his shoulder, drawing first blood.

Spike grunted in pain. "That all you got, Bambi?" He grasped an antler in each hand, bracing between the tines to keep from slipping, and fell backwards, his foot in the demon's stomach. It flipped over him and landed with a "whump" on its back, while he rolled upright and slammed his boot into its jaw.

It rotated with the kick and rose to its feet, spitting blood and grinning mirthlessly at him. "No. I seem to recall that I had your girlfriend."

"You!" Spike aimed a wild punch at its face, which it sidestepped. A foot whistled by his ear, missing by a fraction of an inch, and he again grabbed an antler and flung the Chaos Demon into the wall. Before it could recover, he was on its back, an antler in each hand. A loud "crack" sounded, and the demon lay still, its neck broken.

Spike stood up and wiped his slime-covered hands off on his jeans. The Slayer met his stare appraisingly across the arena, then he felt a light blow as an anesthetic dart hit him in the back.

"Take him to my rooms," the Slayer instructed while he slumped to the floor.


	2. Lessons

  
_**Chapter Two: Lessons**_

This was getting to be a bad habit, Spike thought to himself as he swam back to consciousness. Someone had considerately bandaged the antler wound in his shoulder and returned his t-shirt--and he wasn't restrained. He opened his eyes and found himself lying on a couch in a living room, the Slayer sprawled in a recliner and smoking a cigarette across the coffee table from him. He sat up.

"You put on quite a show out there," she said to him.

"Did I?" He reached for the mug of blood on the coffee table. "You should give me a refund then, ducks. I didn't pay to _be_ the entertainment, after all." He sniffed the blood, then sipped from it.

"Sorry, William. No refunds."

"I was afraid of that. You got a name, pet? Can't keep callin' you 'Slayer' all the time."

"Alicia." Spike gave a snort of laughter at that. She was offended. "What?"

"I used to be a poet, luv. Words were my business. 'Alicia' means 'honest'...and I don't think it fits you very well."

"This coming from someone who got his nickname from torturing people with railroad spikes," she said disdainfully, flicking the tip of her cigarette toward the ashtray. "Ever hear the proverb about stones and glass houses?"

He put the cup back down. "Things change."

She tilted her head at him. "Do they?"

"Apparently. Here you are, the Slayer...working with demons, instead of killin' us like you ought to be doing. And here I am, a vampire, fighting the good fight and protecting mankind from the likes of, well, you. How many people have you killed, luv? An estimate?" He snagged the pack of cigarettes off the table and lit one, blowing the smoke in her direction.

Her gaze slid away from him. "I do what I have to do. They protect me."

He snorted again. "From what? Each other? You're the bloody Slayer. You should be having them for breakfast. Er, not literally. But you know what I mean."

She was puzzled. "But they told me I was supposed to work with them. I'm a weapon in their army. They're battling, in the arena, for the honor of having me fight for their clan."

Spike put his head in his hand for a second. The Council of Wankers had been an outdated, stuffy organization, but it had been useful from time to time. This girl had no idea what her purpose was supposed to be, and the company she was keeping wasn't helping. He looked up at her, his expression resolved. "Is that what they told you? Well. We need to get you out of here, right the bloody hell now. You're not some sodding prize in a gladiatorial game," he said with some heat. "Your destiny is to kill demons, not fight for them."

"What, you think they'll just let us walk out of here? I have a little freedom. But not that much." She stubbed her cigarette out furiously.

He gave her a sideways glance. "Freedom enough to get me into your inner sanctum, anyway. I suppose that's something."

She looked away from him again. "They think..."

"I know what they think. But if they really believe I'm walking down that road again, they're completely sack of hammers. Last time I had a relationship with a Slayer, it was a bloody disaster. I'm not willing to play another round of that."

She was a little insulted. "What, am I not pretty enough?"

Startled, he said, "Cor, pet, it's not that at all. You're what, sixteen?"

"Seventeen."

"Too bloody young to be in any kind of relationship with the likes of me, then. Or I'm too old to be in a relationship with you. Either way. Not happening. But..."

"But?"

He sighed. "You can't stay here and be demon fodder. We have to get you out. Until we come up with some kind of plan, I'll train you."

"Train me? I'm the Slayer. I have natural ability."

"Yeah? You think that 'natural ability' will keep you alive for longer than five minutes in a bona fide battle?"

She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "I could lick you in a fair fight without thinking twice about it."

He was across the room in a heartbeat, pinning her wrists to the chair back, his teeth at her throat. "Could you, now, pet?" he whispered against her rapidly fluttering pulse. "And what makes you think I'd fight fair? Ever been in a real fight, with something that was serious about killing you?"

Alicia gulped a little. "No," she mumbled.

"I could have had you drained and turned in less time than it took to tell it, just now. Never forget that. And I'm by no means the fastest demon out there." He released her and sat back down on the couch.

"So...you'll train me..." She leaped over the coffee table, a stake in her hand, only to be met in midair by Spike, who spun her around, pinned her wrists, and had his teeth at her throat again. "I guess I do need it," she said, deflated.

"Lesson the First: Natural ability is no match for science. The sooner you learn that, the better off you'll be."

* * *

They had a certain amount of independence around the compound. Demons followed, but at a discreet distance, and always watching. Spike took the opportunity to work with her everywhere, from small, low-ceilinged storage rooms, to long, narrow hallways. Cramped, confined places forced her to concentrate on where her weapons were, and to orient herself and use the space she had to her advantage. 

He used bigger rooms and the arena to go over the basics, such as tumbling moves, swordplay, and martial arts. Taking a breather after one such session, they sat against the wall of an auditorium, smoking. Spike looked at Alicia sideways. "Those things'll kill you, you know," he said, idly playing with a knife.

She snorted and took another drag. "I'll worry about lung cancer if I live that long."

"Here, now, none of that. I'm doing everything I can to make sure you live a nice long life."

"Yeah?" She gave him that appraising stare again. "Why?"

"'Cause it's the right thing to do, pet. And I guess I'm trying to make up for being the death of a pair of Slayers, and not doing a very good job of protecting another." He punctuated that statement by sending the knife into the wood parquet floor with a "thunk," point-first.

"But...how do you know what the right thing to do is?" She seemed honestly curious.

The question brought him up short, and he had to think about it for a minute while he worked the blade loose. "Well. I know what the wrong thing to do would be. Now that I have this soul, this moral compass, it generally steers me on the straight and narrow. It sure sets up a ruckus if I go astray, that's for bloody sure."

"Hm," Alicia said pensively. "You sound like my parents. They were always, 'let your conscience be your guide' and crap like that."

His turn for the appraising stare. "What happened to your parents? Aren't they worried about you?"

Her lip curled a little. "They were too busy making sure I never had any fun to worry about me. Do this, do that, be in by ten, don't do such and such. I finally got sick of it and bailed."

"Yeah, they sound like heartless bastards, all right." Spike's voice was dry as paper as he stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. "Ready for another round?"

* * *

Lying on the couch later that night, Spike contemplated his predicament. This girl had no bloody clue about right and wrong, about what her destiny was supposed to be, about anything, really. His thoughts turned to the Watcher's Council again. They may have been a group of right prats, but Spike had to admit that they had served the purpose of finding the Slayers and getting them trained. He wished they'd had something in place to insure their succession, because he was in a brand new situation, and he had no idea how to deal with it. 

He growled to himself and sat up, hunting his cigarettes. He should get out now, before the whole thing came crashing down around his head. But, dammit...he couldn't. Lighting up and pulling the smoke deeply into his lungs, he pondered just what the soddin' hell it was about Slayers that got inside him and wouldn't let him go. Kill them or protect them, two sides of the same passionate coin. And he wondered if part of him wanted to help this one because he'd failed Buffy all those years ago.

And that was the crux of his problem. Two decades, and he still couldn't get her out of his head. Intellectually, he knew that aiding Alicia wouldn't make up for Buffy's death, but emotionally it still felt like the right thing to do.

He had a week and a half to work on her before the Finals of the Glads. He'd better make the most of it.

* * *

In the bedroom, Alicia wrestled with her own dilemma. How could he be so sure about what was right and what was wrong? People who had strong opinions made her uncomfortable. Her parents had always taught her--when she bothered to listen--that people with strong opinions were closed-minded, that keeping an open mind about everything was a virtue. That the only sin was judging people. 

What she'd told Spike had been true; they had always murmured platitudes like "Let your conscience be your guide." They'd just never given her a moral compass for her conscience to be guided _by_. And now she was confused. Confronted by a man--well, vampire--who was so damned sure that she was "wrong" for working with the demons, she didn't know how to deal with him, or with his judgement.

Not that he had openly condemned her, in so many words. But she could practically feel the disapproval rolling off of him in waves.

She rolled over and frowned at the wall. Like he had anything to talk about. Mr. High and Mighty had killed his share of people. So what if he didn't do that anymore? He had in the past, and it was hypocritical of him to judge her when he'd done worse. She _owed_ these demons; they'd saved her life when she was first Chosen as the Slayer and had no idea what was going on or why monsters all of a sudden seemed interested in killing her.

At least, that's what she kept telling herself as she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Dust and smoke. Tired muscles swinging a battleaxe. Slayer at his back. Blood smell, sharp and coppery. Slayer's frantic voice: "Spike!" Spin around, she's bleeding, falling. Try to catch her. Blow to his head. Bright stars. Can't stand. Legs collapse. Darkness-- 

Spike woke, gasping. Just a dream--it was just a dream. "Bloody hell." He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair, hunting his cigarettes, lighting one with a jittery hand.

He was so shaken that it took him a minute to notice the two Odobenus demons in the room with him. "Come with us, vampire," one said gutturally.

Spike dragged smoke deep into his lungs. "Give us a second, all right?" A couple more quick puffs, and he stubbed it out and got to his feet. "Where we going, then?"

"Cain wants to see you."

"Cain? Can't these big bads come up with more original names?"

The demon cuffed him on the head. "Show respect to your betters, leech."

Spike snorted but kept further comments to himself. They traversed several hallways and went outside to another building at one point, entering another halfway across the compound. Finally they stopped outside a doorway and knocked. "Come!" The voice from the other side of the door was deeper and raspier than those of Spike's companions, and when they entered, he saw that the Odobenus demon behind the desk was larger, toothier, and hairier than any he'd seen so far. "Leave us," it said to the minions.

After glaring at Spike and giving him a little shove, they did. Spike sprawled himself insolently in the seat in front of the desk, hooking his leg over the chair arm and crossing his arms over his chest. "Right then. What in bloody hell is going on around here?"

Cain tented his fingers and gazed at Spike, his red hair ridge rising just a little. "I believe I'm the one asking the questions."

"Haven't heard one yet."

"What's your game? Why are you training the Slayer?"

Spike shrugged. "It's what I do. God knows she needs help, and I don't see any of your lackeys jumpin' in. You do want her to be of some use to you, don't you?"

"There is that," Cain allowed. "I'm still left with the question of why you're helping her help us. Aren't you all 'good' and soul-having now? Why help us in our clan wars?"

"'m not helping you. I'm helping her. If I help you in the process, then that's the way the cookie crumbles." Spike cocked an eyebrow. "Clan wars? Is that what all this is about?" For the first time, he realized that the demons' ridge hair came in different colors, and that different colors denoted different clans. "And, since I'm helping you and all, let me reiterate: you mind tellin' me just what in soddin' hell is going on?"

"We captured her in San Antonio. She doesn't know any Slayer history--in fact, as far as she knows, Slayers have always helped demons."

"Remember the Alamo," Spike muttered. Then his head came up. "San Antonio? Was it seven months ago? I thought you wankers smelled familiar. Bloody hell." Wheels turning, he started thinking aloud. "So, you captured her, brought her here, told her a bunch of lies about Slayerness...Nice plan."

"Yes, well. You seem to have thrown a monkey wrench into that." Cain tilted his head at Spike. "It will be interesting to see which side she chooses."

"You willin' to gamble on that?" Spike asked warily.

Cain grinned around his tusks. "Yes. I have confidence in this girl. She's ours." The grin became feral. "We had to kill a few squatters to make this place suitable for our purposes. She participated."

* * *

Alicia leaped to her feet from the sofa when he walked back into her apartment. "I thought they'd taken you," she said awkwardly. 

"They did. Brought me back, though." Spike lifted an eyebrow. "Nice of you to be all concerned over my welfare."

She crossed her arms defensively over her chest. "So what did Cain want?"

"Wanted to know what I'm playing at. Why I'm helping them."

"Why are you?"

He gave her an enigmatic stare and lit a cigarette, sitting the on the arm of the recliner. "I'm not. I'm helping you get in touch with your inner Slayer."

"Well, what the hell does that mean, Spike?"

"Do you have dreams? Dreams that you're someone else, in another time and place?"

Alicia didn't uncross her arms. "Sure, doesn't everyone?" Then she frowned. "Wait a minute...I've dreamed about you."

Spike's mouth twitched, and he slid into the seat of the chair, putting his smoke out and lacing his fingers behind his head. "Nice to know I've made an impression."

She sank slowly back down onto the couch. "No. Before we even met. I was a Chinese girl. And an African-American girl. And a blonde girl. The Boxer Rebellion, a subway car, and the California Hellmouth. Acathla." Her eyes widened. "How do I know all that?"

"All Slayers have a mystical connection. They usually get snippets, in dreams. Sounds like that's what's been happening to you, pet. Nothing to be worried about. All that being said--" He pulled the lever and reclined the chair back. "I've not been sleeping too well myself these last few nights, so if you'll excuse me..."

Alicia huffed at him. "See you in the morning, then."

* * *

**A/N:** TBC. Reviews rock my world.


	3. Demonstration

  
**_Chapter Three: Demonstration_**

Spike awoke the next day, after another bad dream, to a crick in his neck and the smell of breakfast burning. He made his way into the kitchen, where Alicia was swearing at the utensils and making an unholy mess. She had flour in her hair, sugar on her nose, and something unidentifiable stuck to her eyebrow. He appropriated the spatula from her and flipped a pancake over. "Sit down, Lish. Good God. Never yet met a Slayer who could bloody cook."

It didn't take him long to make something edible and slide it in front of her. He sat down on the opposite side of the breakfast table with a mug of blood and watched her eat. Nice to see a girl with a healthy appetite, he mused. He waited for her to finish before he said anything to her about the previous night--and then he was unsure how to bring it up.

So, he dove right in. "Thought about our discussion?"

Immediately on the defensive, she snapped, "What else do you think I've been thinking about?"

He sighed and fiddled with his mug. "Look, pet, I know I'm the last one to be lecturing you on what being a Slayer is all about--"

"Then stop it! For God's sake! Don't you think I _know_?" She looked down at her empty plate. "I just don't know what to do about it."

"Let's get out. You and me. I'll take you up to Cleveland, and you can cut your Slayer teeth on the Hellmouth up there. Actually, it's not much of a Hellmouth, more of a Heckmouth, but still. We can leave tonight. Pop out the bloody window and get away before they even know we're gone."

"You make it sound easy," she said wistfully. "But I can't do that. I owe Cain."

"You don't owe him a bloody thing. He's lied to you from the beginning and would just as soon eat you as look at you." Spike lit a cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke, exasperated. "Your sense of loyalty is admirable, but misplaced. You've sold your birthright, luv, and you're not even getting a bowl of stew out of it."

"Oh, you're one to talk about sold birthrights. You're a vampire. Think betraying your own kind is just fine?" she sniped back.

He laughed at her. "Like it's any equivalent, luv. I'm working on the side of what's good and holy now. You, to put it mildly, aren't."

She conceded his point with a twitch of her lips. "You really think we can get out?"

"Don't see why not. We'll train today, just like always, then wait for dark, maybe around midnight--and blow this place."

She frowned, chewing her lip. "All right," she said slowly. "If you really think it's possible." She stood up. "I'll go get changed."

She closed the bedroom door behind her. Clattering the dishes while putting them in the dishwasher, he didn't hear her pick up her phone. "I need to talk to Cain."

* * *

As soon as his feet touched the ground outside Alicia's bedroom window, the hairs on the back of Spike's neck warned him that all was not well. He had enough time to see a Louisville Slugger aimed at his head and hear the Slayer scream "Don't hurt--" before the bat connected and sent him flying several yards. He was unconscious before he hit the dirt with bone-crunching force.

Alicia rounded on Cain, who had wielded the weapon himself. "You promised you wouldn't hurt him!" she accused.

He gave her a toothy grin. "I lied. Take the vampire to a cell," he instructed a pair of minions. "You've done well, Slayer. Had you actually betrayed us, it would have been the death of both of you. As it is, only your fanged friend will be injured--and perhaps not so badly as all that, when all is said and done. Go back to your quarters. We'll return him to you when we're done with him."

Alicia's emotions were a mixture of anger, frustration, and remorse as she made her way into her apartment. She had thought she was doing the right thing by informing Cain of the escape attempt, but he'd _promised_...And now who knew how badly Spike was hurt? The demon boss had said that he'd bring the vampire back when they were done with him, but he'd broken one promise. What difference would it make if he broke another one?

_Lesson learned,_ she told herself grimly. _Never trust the word of a demon, ever again._

* * *

Spike came to gradually, his head aching fiercely. He became aware that he was sitting upright in a ladder-backed chair, his arms twisted painfully behind him and bound to the crosspieces, and his ankles tied to the chair legs.

Cain had been leaning against the wall of the cell, but he pushed himself off and walked over to Spike when he saw him stirring. Baring his teeth in a mirthless leer, he slapped Spike across the face with a massive hand. "I told you she was ours."

Unintimidated, Spike scowled up at him. "You've had her for seven months. I've been working with her for, what, four days?"

"You just don't get it, do you?" Cain slapped him again, with the other hand. "The amount of time doesn't matter. This Slayer is defective. She won't come over to your side, because she has no desire to. In fact..." Cain stopped to think for a moment, then nearly knocked the chair over with the force of the punch he delivered to Spike's jaw. "The Powers must be getting short on Slayers, if they called this one."

Spike spat blood, dizzy but still fearless. "I seem to remember another Slayer that everyone had given up on. She even spent time in jail for murder. Then she fought by my side and helped save the world."

Cain scoffed. "Alicia has far too great a sense of self-preservation to throw her life away on such a foolish endeavor. She won't be leaving with you." This time the chair fell over backwards, and he knocked Spike unconscious. "Ever."

* * *

Alicia leaped to her feet when they hammered on her door. She wrenched it open to find Spike lying senseless on her doorstep and a pair of Odobenus demons walking away down the hall, apparently after dumping him there.

She breathed a sigh of relief for her Slayer strength as she picked him up and carried him inside, and thanked whatever Powers That Were that Spike hadn't been returned to her in an ashtray. She noted with sorrow the bruises and blood on his face, and went to get a washcloth so she could bathe his wounds.

When she came back to the living room, he was stirring on the couch, starting to come around and swearing a little at the pain in his head. "Shh," she soothed him, while she mopped his split lip. "It's all right."

"Bloody hell. You sure about that?"

"Well, you're not a big pile of dust," Alicia said through tears, "so I guess you'll live, anyway."

"Here, now, pet." Spike struggled to sit up, but fell back with a little moan that he tried to hide from her. "What's with the waterworks?"

"It's my fault he hurt you. If I hadn't told..."

"You think they wouldn't have stopped us anyway? And then it might be me tendin' you, instead of the other way 'round. Think I like it better this way. By the by, luv, that pain you're feelin'? That's your conscience telling you that you made right bollocks-up of the situation. Thought I'd let you know that, seeing as your conscience hasn't really had a workout until now."

"Oh, shut up. For what it's worth, I'm sorry. And it won't happen again."

"Too bloody right it won't. We'll pick a much more opportune moment for our next escape attempt. And, for what it's worth, I forgive you," he said easily.

Alicia rocked back on her heels. "You what?"

"I forgive you."

She sputtered. "How? Why? Look at you!"

"This?" Spike gestured at his already-healing face. "Another Slayer did me worse than this, herself, and I went to her birthday party a week later with no hard feelings. You didn't beat me up; Cain did. Him, yeah, I've got plans for his ugly mug. You? All you did was what you thought you needed to do to protect yourself."

"If we try it again he'll kill us both."

"If he catches us, he will." He gave her a roguish grin. "Guess we'll have to be sure not to get caught next time."

"Next time? Spike, no..." She covered her concern over escaping by trying to clean the blood off his eyebrow.

"Oh, bloody hell, Slayer. I don't know about you, but I don't feel like spending the rest of my unlife running errands for Cain." He batted her hands away and sat up, hunting through his duster pockets for his cigarettes. Finding them, he lit one and inhaled deeply, thinking. "Might be better to let them think they've knocked us back for a bit, anyway. Keep a low profile for awhile."

"The semi-finals are in a few days," she said pensively.

"Yeah, so?"

"Cain'll probably want some sort of demonstration from us."

"Let's not disappoint him, then."

* * *

They drilled hard for the next three days. The afternoon of the semi-finals, Cain called Alicia into his office. "I trust your training with the vampire is going well?" he said.

"Pretty good," she answered cautiously. "He's teaching me some stuff I didn't know before."

He showed his teeth. "I'm sure we have something in the cells that you can show off your newfound skills on. Spike was quite impressive with the Chaos Demon, after all."

She gulped a little. "We'll be ready."

"See that you are."

* * *

Alicia rolled her oiled shoulders and paced back and forth in nervous anticipation. Spike watched her with quiet amusement, leaning against the wall and smoking. The chanting in the arena grew to a roar as the door opened in front of them. "Slayer! Slayer! Slayer!"

Spike flicked his cigarette away and gave her a grin. "Ready?"

She took a deep breath. "As I'll ever be, I guess."

They stepped out, and the roar of the crowd intensified as they raised their battleaxes over their heads. Spike didn't think they could get any louder, but discovered he was wrong when the opposite door opened and a pair of Grox'lar Beasts, each armed with a mace, tromped in. Spike saw her eyes go wide, and he gave her an encouraging nudge. "I've got your back, Slayer. You know what to do."

She walked toward their adversaries, Spike a half-step behind. Breaking into a run, she emitted a banshee-like yell and brandished her axe up over her head. They planted their feet and waited, grinning hideously. At the last second, she slid to the side and swung the weapon horizontally, but the Grox'lar blocked the blow with its mace. Without pausing, she delivered a spinning kick to its face, which knocked it back a few feet.

It raised its club and aimed a strike at her head, but Spike had taught her how to dodge those. She ducked and used a leg sweep to knock it off its feet, onto its stomach. Leaping onto its back, she dropped her axe and grabbed its head, preparatory to breaking its neck.

She'd forgotten about the other one. It had smashed Spike back with its mace after he'd cut its arm with his axe. Standing behind Alicia, it raised its weapon over its head and started to bring it down with a blow that would have broken her back had it connected. But Spike charged right back into the fray, and, before the slow-moving Beast even knew he was there, his blade sliced through its neck. Its head hit the ground as Alicia broke its companion's neck with an audible "snap."

She stood up, and she and Spike clasped hands and raised them in victory. The approbation of the crowd washed over her in a flood, and she felt fulfilled for the first time in a long time.

* * *

Back in her apartment, she was practically bouncing off the walls. "That was so cool!" she gushed, over and over.

Spike sat on the couch, grimacing a little as his aching ribs reminded him that Grox'lar Beasts might be slow, but they were strong. Time to take her down a peg or two. "Was it, pet?"

"Well, yeah. It was awesome! Did you see that leg sweep?"

He raised his eyebrow. "Did _you_ see the Beast behind you...that I killed before it bashed your head in?"

She frowned a little. "Well...you said you had my back. I trusted you."

"I won't always be there to have your back. The Slayer needs to be aware of her surroundings, at all times. You can't count on other people. Not even me. What if the other one had killed me when he'd hit me with his bloody mace?"

"You're a vampire," she said. "You can't be killed with a blunt instrument...right?"

He snorted. "He could have taken my head off with that thing--or at least knocked me out. Then where would you have been?"

She chose that point to change the subject. "What do you mean you won't always be there? You can't leave. Cain would kill you."

"I've survived several apocalypses, killed two Slayers, and bested a Hellgod. Do you really think I'm worried about a ponce like Cain?"

"So...you're leaving me?"

"Hey, I didn't say that, exactly. You're more than welcome to come with me when I go. In fact, I wish you would, pet. There's no future for you here."

"There might be. If you would stay."

"No sodding way. I've got an unlife, as I've said before. And it doesn't involve staying around here being a lapdog for the likes of Walrus-boy. First opportunity I see, I'm out. Whether you come along or not is strictly up to you. But be watching, because I'm not telling you beforehand again."

"You don't trust me," she pouted.

"Damn straight I don't. I trust three creatures on this earth. Myself, my Cleric, and my dog. You're not even close to being on the list, after that last stunt you pulled, Delilah."

"But...I thought you forgave me."

Spike lit a cigarette and grinned at her sardonically. "I did. Doesn't mean all is forgotten, or that I'll make the same stupid mistake as before. But you keep watching me. You'll know when I've decided to make a break for it." He blew a stream of smoke in her direction. "And then you can decide if you want to follow me or not."

* * *

The morning of the Finals, Alicia stood over Spike, who was still asleep on her couch. She'd done up her hair and makeup just so. He seemed restless, and she licked her lips nervously as she contemplated him. The Glads would end tonight, and then the Clan War would commence the next night--but not here at the Compound. Cain had said something about some holy ground or other, and the night of the full moon; she hadn't paid much attention. She might never see Spike again after this weekend, and she wanted...

What did she want? She wasn't sure anymore. This vampire dredged up all kinds of conflicting emotions in her, some pleasant, some less so. These past two weeks had been a whirlwind, and now that it was crunch time and she was scared, she'd just about decided she wanted him. Badly. Maybe it was because he was the closest thing to human that she had contact with in this place. Maybe it was because he had high expectations for her, something no one else in her life had ever done. And maybe it was because she thought that one or both of them might die, and she didn't want that to happen without at least trying to reach out somehow.

She had an ugly feeling about the Clan War. And she was about to do something stupid. But if she did it quickly she wouldn't have time to talk herself out of it.

She leaned down, placing her hands softly on his shoulders, and kissed his lips. Gently at first, then hungrier, more demanding. He started to respond--

Then his startled eyes snapped open, and he sent her flying across the room with a violent, instinctive shove. "Bloody hell, Slayer!" Spike sat up and ran his hand through his hair, exasperated. "What was that all about?"

She sulkily picked herself up off the floor, flung herself into the recliner, and crossed her arms over her chest. "I could ask you the same question. Pushing me like that."

"I was dreaming, and not pleasantly. What's your excuse?" He lit a cigarette and glared at her through the smoke.

She deflated. "Tonight's the Finals. And then the War."

"Yeah, so?" He tilted his head at her, then nodded in comprehension. "Bit unnerved, luv?"

"No!" she flashed at him indignantly. Her eyes slid away. "Okay. Maybe a little. And I just..." She shrugged, embarrassed now.

"Not that I'm not flattered and all, but I told you nothing like that would happen, the day we met. Nothing's changed."

A surge of anger coursed through her at his rejection. "Fine. I wasn't serious anyway. Especially since you're probably leaving pretty soon. Not much chance for anything long term."

"Funny, I would've thought you were after a quick tumble. Didn't know the phrase 'long term' was in your vocabulary, pet." He lifted his eyebrow at her caustically.

"You know what? Screw you. I don't need you. I don't need anyone." Stung more by the truth of his statement than anything else, she leaped to her feet and stalked out the door, slamming it behind her.

Spike put his face in his hand and shook his head, only now registering that she'd put on makeup and perfume. "That went well," he muttered to himself.

* * *

Pacing up and down Cain's office, Alicia ranted furiously. "Who the hell does he think he is? I'm the Slayer! I kill his kind for a living! He's lucky I didn't stake him right then and there!"

"Yes, well," Cain soothed, "he is unworthy of you. And you have more pressing matters to attend to anyway."

She calmed somewhat. "The Clan Wars."

"We're emptying the cells tonight as well. Do you wish to fight in the arena as a warm-up, or would you rather conserve your strength for tomorrow?"

"I'll wait. No sense in taking a chance on getting wounded in something that doesn't matter. You can do whatever you want with Spike, though. I think he might be planning on making a break for it soon."

Cain smiled at her and reached into his desk drawer. "You've done well for us, Slayer," he said, taking out an apple and tossing it to her. "Your reward will be great."

She bit into it and munched slowly while he spoke into his intercom.


	4. War

  
**_Chapter 4: War_**

Standing in the arena that night, shirtless, weaponless, and oiled, Spike reflected to himself that insulting the Slayer in such a personal manner might not have been the smartest thing he'd ever done. Magnus, he of the shock baton and the snotty attitude, faced him across the dirt that had been laid over the cement floor, a stake in his hand and a determined expression on his vamped face. Spike grinned at him sardonically. "You think you can take me, fledgling?" he taunted. "Not bloody likely."

"You're my ticket out of here. I kill you, I go free. I have incentive."

Magnus lunged at Spike with the stake. Spike knocked it aside almost casually and kicked him in the face, following up with a massive uppercut that sent him flying halfway across the arena. Magnus clambered to his feet, but Spike was there to meet him. When the other vampire thrust the stake at him again, Spike grabbed his wrist, flipped him around so that his back was against Spike's chest, and forced the stake against his heart. Magnus struggled, but was no match for his older, stronger opponent.

"Sorry, mate. You're about to become part of the place," Spike said in his ear, right before he jammed the stake into Magnus' chest.

Brushing the resulting dust off himself as best he could, Spike smiled grimly...then realized that since Magnus had been holding the stake and Spike hadn't had the presence of mind to pull it out, he still didn't have a weapon. That wouldn't be a problem if he'd just bought his freedom the way Magnus claimed he was trying to buy his. However, that faint hope was crushed when a seriously large Ca'nidia demon strode through the door carrying a sword.

It bared its teeth in its long muzzle at him and charged, sword upraised. Spike waited until it was almost upon him, then slipped to the side and kicked it in the back as it went by. It lost its balance but recovered quickly, turning with a snarl and swinging the sword at his head. He ducked under it, came up inside the stroke, and head-butted it in the jaw. It staggered backwards, but managed to bring the sword up and slice Spike across the ribs.

He growled and came at it with a flurry of kicks and punches, moving so fast that it couldn't keep up. It got him once more with the blade, across the left bicep, but while its arm was extended, he grabbed it by the wrist and elbow. It dropped the weapon with a cry of anguish when he cracked its arm across his knee. He scooped up the sword and ran it through its heart, all in one motion, while it was distracted from the pain.

Straightening, Spike had just enough time to shoot a "What the bloody hell?" look at the Slayer before five Sciurian Demons bounded into the arena on all fours. As they descended on him in a kicking, biting, clawing mass, they drove him backwards, then down into the dirt. He managed to dispatch two of them with one wild swing of the sword, but the other three held him down and chewed mercilessly.

Bucking beneath them, he threw them off balance and managed to get rid of the one on his legs. He slammed his knee into the one on his stomach and backflipped to his feet when it fell off him. They came right back at him again, and he skewered one on the sword, pulled the blade out, and smacked one behind him with the butt of the weapon, which put it down and out.

Only one remained, but Spike was rapidly weakening as the bite and claw marks streamed rivers of blood. The Sciurian ripped its talons across his abdomen and dodged his counterstroke. He followed up with a backswing that took its head off, then turned to the one that he'd knocked out and stabbed it through the chest.

Dizzy, almost ill with the blood loss, he fell to his knees first. As unconsciousness overtook him, he collapsed into the now-red sand of the arena while the crowd cheered and the Slayer pensively stared at him.

"Your vampire fights bravely and well," Cain said to her. "He'll be an asset in the Clan Wars."

"If he stays." Alicia watched a pair of Cain's minions drag Spike's limp body out through the doors.

"Perhaps now he'll be more...amenable to your charms. Go to him. See what you can do. He should recover shortly."

Alicia slipped out of the box as yet another pair of pre-finals demons faced off in the arena. Making sure she wasn't being followed, she sneaked into Cain's office and found the cell phone, wallet, and butterfly knife they'd taken from Spike when he was captured. She owed him that much, anyway.

Down in the cells, she asked one of the guards where they'd put "the vampire," and discovered they'd dumped him carelessly on a cot. Furious, she rounded on the demon and demanded fresh blood and first aid supplies. He was a bit taken aback by her passion, but lumbered off to get what she wanted. He didn't keep her waiting very long.

Gazing at Spike's battered and bloody form, her anger at him evaporated, and she sighed. Twice now, he'd been hurt because of her. She pulled up a chair and began tending his injuries. After a few minutes, he moved his head and moaned, "Bloody hell."

"Here," she said awkwardly. "I've got some blood for you."

He opened his eyes and gave her a half-grin through the pain. "This is gettin' to be a habit, pet. Did I win?" Gritting his teeth a little, he got up on one elbow and took the cup from her.

"Well." She bit her lip, looking him up and down. "You're alive, and they're not. But you got pretty shredded."

Spike sat the rest of the way up. After draining the blood, he felt a bit better. "Mostly surface cuts, I think." He lifted an eyebrow at her. "Not that I'm not touched and all by your concern, luv...but last time I saw you, you were leaving your apartment in an almighty huff."

She looked away from him. "Yeah, well. You weren't exactly nice to me."

"What?" he scoffed. "You thought getting tarted up and coming on to me like that would make me fall into your arms and we'd get a happily-ever-after? Here? You needed a reality check."

"Meanie," she said, without heat. She started to say something else, but a deafening roar came from the direction of the arena, and they exchanged a look. "Guess the Glads are over."

* * *

In Alicia's apartment, Spike took a hot bath to soothe his sore muscles. Leaning his head back against the wall, he shook it back and forth tiredly. Tomorrow night it would all be over, one way or another. Either she'd come with him, or he'd leave by himself. The choice was the Slayer's; he wasn't going to force her. 

Dressing carefully, he walked back out to the living room. Alicia had apparently gone to bed, but his phone, wallet, and knife were on the coffee table. He tilted his head in silent thanks to her door and debated calling Pastor Tom. On the one hand, he hadn't been able to contact him for two weeks, and the Cleric was undoubtedly a little worried. On the other hand, the situation wasn't resolved yet, and the only thing he'd be able to tell him was that he still inhabited the land of the living...in a manner of speaking.

Spike lit a cigarette and decided to call later. Right now, he thought, a little prayer might be in order.

* * *

Alicia tossed and turned in her bed, wrestling with the quandary of whether she was going to go with Spike when he left or not. She was under no illusions that he would stay, and she figured he'd probably slip away in the heat of the battle. He'd put the decision squarely on her shoulders. Sometimes she wished he'd just bash her on the head and take her away with him. Life was easier when other people made choices for her. 

She sat up and rested her head on her bent knees. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

The next day was filled with Odobenus demons cleaning up and clearing things out, making preparations for the battle ahead. Alicia and Spike rattled around at loose ends, not really talking. One or the other of them would start to say something, and then stop, uncomfortable. 

Shortly after sunset, Cain gathered everyone in the main hall. He gave a stirring speech that had all the demons cheering, but neither Spike nor Alicia paid much attention. Lost in their own thoughts, they were almost startled when the exodus began. Cain shouldered them apart and slung a heavy arm over Spike's shoulders, giving him a grin. "Let's you and I take your car. Wouldn't want you running off with our Slayer now."

Spike shot him a look filled with wounded innocence. "Really. Would I do that?"

Cain laughed and clapped him on the back. "I like you, vampire. I hope you survive."

Spike watched Alicia being ushered away. "I hope we all do."

He pulled into the caravan, and they all headed out. After driving awhile and watching Cain apparently prepare himself by meditating, Spike noticed that the group was parking and demons were exiting vehicles. He and Cain got out too...and then he saw where they were and lifted his eyebrow.

"They built a trailer park on your sacred ground?"

* * *

The rhythm of battle became a predictable cycle after awhile. Spike and Alicia stood back to back, armed with battleaxes, and fought the Odobenus demons that came at them. Spike was slowly moving them towards the outskirts of the trailer park, which most of the inhabitants had abandoned when the war started in their backyards. It was slow slogging, however, and he was getting tired. 

Smoke from trailers that had caught fire obscured the moon, and he felt badly for the Slayer, who needed to breathe. He could hear her coughing every once in awhile, as she battled valiantly on.

"Spike?" Swing. Dodge.

"Yeah, pet?" Feint. Hack.

"I've decided to go with--Ungh!"

Bad sound. He spun around to see her bleeding, falling. Axe went right into her side, between her ribs. Deep. Bright red blood on her lips. Mortal wound. He tried to catch her, to lower her gently to the ground, but suddenly all he could see was stars, then blackness, as the demon he had been fighting took the opportunity of his distraction to smash him in the head with its mace.

"William..." Alicia whispered. Blood from his scalp mingled with hers, and she slid her hand into his as the dark claimed her.

* * *

"Sodding. Bloody. Hell." Spike came to slowly and painfully, gradually becoming aware of the relative silence around him. The roar of combat had been replaced by the sound of crackling flames and little else, and by this he assumed that the Clan War was over and he'd been left on the battleground. Fine with him. 

Something under his palm? He took a moment to figure out what it was, because it had been awhile since he'd held a dead hand. Heaving an unneeded sigh, he raised up on his elbows and saw Alicia's body lying there. "Dammit." He rested his forehead on the bloody ground for a moment, then gently disengaged his hand from hers and staggered to his feet.

The trailer park was a complete disaster, he saw. The mobile homes that weren't on fire were flattened. Teach them to build on demon holy ground. He supposed that there weren't any zoning restrictions...and realized that he must still be feeling the effects of the bash in the head if his thoughts were as disconnected as all that. Right. Time to find the DeSoto and go home to his dog.

The trip back to Lampasas took far longer than the hour and a half it had taken to get there; because of residual dizziness, he had to keep pulling over. Ravenous with hunger, he'd been tempted a couple of times to grab some lone traveler at a rest stop and make a quick snack, but his conscience pricked him enough that he didn't follow through. Just a little while longer, he kept telling himself. Fresh blood in the fridge. Okay, two-week-old blood in the fridge, but he'd settle.

The sun was brightening the horizon behind him when he pulled into the welcoming parking lot of the church. A few minutes more, and he'd have to spend the day in the car. Swearing a little, he dragged himself out from behind the wheel and stumbled to his mausoleum. Home sweet crypt.

It was good to be back.

* * *

"...and that's how I failed to save another Slayer," Spike concluded, stubbing out his cigarette in Tom's office and sitting back with a grimace. He idly played with Topper's ears. The Bull Terrier hadn't left his side since he'd returned. 

"That's a little harsh," Pastor Tom said. "You have to let people make their own decisions, Spike. You're not responsible for what she chose."

"What's really depressing is that she was going to come with me when I made a break for it. She was telling me that when the demon got her."

"You know, I'm sure Adam and Eve wanted to reconsider eating the Fruit of Knowledge too. And I'm betting Esau regretted trading his inheritance after he had time to reflect. We can't always escape the consequences of our choices."

Spike grunted, and Tom turned the television on so they could watch the news. The lead story was a freak tornado that had ripped through a trailer park overnight and killed six people. Spike snorted into his mug of blood. "Is that what they're calling it?"

Tom's head swivelled around. "Was that where you were? Six people died?"

"Guess some of the residents didn't get out before the festivities started. Bloody hell. Chalk up another thing for me to feel bad about."

"It's not your fault, Spike. You couldn't have done anything to prevent anything that happened last night. You tried. That's all anyone asks of you."

"It's not all I ask of myself though. If I'd--"

The door splintered open and an Odobenus demon with a purple hair ridge, carrying a battleaxe, strode in. It bared its teeth at Spike as he leaped to his feet and stood protectively in front of Tom. Topper growled and started towards it. "Back, Topper! Bugger it, haven't you soddin' wankers bothered me enough?" Spike snarled.

"You, vampire, are a loose end. Cain was soft-hearted enough to let you live. I...am not."

Spike's hand dove into his duster pocket for his butterfly knife. It seemed a pitifully inadequate weapon against a demon twice his size armed with an axe, but it was what he had. He'd lost a Slayer to these bloody demons; he wasn't going to lose his Cleric too.

A deafening boom sounded behind him, and a load of triple-ought buckshot made a pretty pattern on the demon's chest and throat. It had time to look surprised as it fell backwards and died before it hit the floor.

Ears ringing, Spike turned around and found Pastor Tom holding a shotgun with practiced ease. "You keep a gun in your office?" he asked unbelievingly.

"Comes in handy sometimes." He ejected the shell. "Think any more of those things'll come after you?"

"I bloody hope not."

"Then it's over?"

"For now." Spike grinned at him. "Until a new Slayer comes along."

_Finis_

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks to everyone for coming along with me on this ride. The challenge was this: Work an illustration of what happened in the Garden of Eden when Adam and Eve ate of the Fruit of the Knowledge of Good and Evil--into the Buffyverse. And for some reason, writing this was like pulling impacted wisdom teeth. It's taken me nearly six months just for me to say "Finally! Done!" And that was before I went back over it and refined it. 

I don't know if it's a good illustration or not. But it's what came out. Adam and Eve sold their birthright (and the rest of mankind's as well), and so did Alicia. Innocent people got hurt in both instances. And I guess that's about as far as I want to take it.

Reviews make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Concrit is adored. If you hated it, tell me why. If you loved it, I'd like to know that too.


End file.
